


Just Getting Started

by redonpointe



Series: Human Error [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:04:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonpointe/pseuds/redonpointe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation with John Watson gives Sherlock Holmes the push he needs to pursue a certain pathologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Getting Started

"You asked her out." John lowered his newspaper and stared disbelievingly at his friend. " _You_  asked  _her_  out." He scoffed. "Sherlock, she's engaged!"

"It was just fish and chips, so I'm not entirely sure that qualifies as a date, but yes I asked her out." Sherlock was annoyed and uncomfortable that he was having this conversation. With John, of all people. He'd never hear the end of it. "And I'm aware that she's engaged, hence the problem."

John laughed, folding his newspaper closed and tossing it aside. "Sorry mate, I think you've missed your chance."

"Don't be stupid, of course I haven't." Sherlock replied with exasperation, waving his hand dismissively. "Have you seen him? He's practically a carbon copy. A low quality carbon copy, even she must know that."

John gave him a look. "If you want my help, you'll stop calling me stupid."

"Fine." Sherlock snapped, sullenly crossing his arms over his chest.

"When did you ask her out?" John asked after a pause, barely containing the smug look on his face. Sherlock glared at him, but wisely refrained from telling him off. He'd make him pay. Eventually.

"After she helped me with my cases, when you so rudely declined my request." He mocked. "You remember, don't you? I seem to recall you telling me to f—"

"Right." John stopped him, frowning thoughtfully while he stared at the fireplace. "But that was a while ago. Why are you asking for my help  _now_?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, leaning forward in his chair and bringing his hands together in front of his mouth. "Because, I seem to have made a mess of things and I don't know how to fix it. That is your area of expertise, is it not?"

John grinned at him, crossing his own arms over his chest. He was enjoying this too much, but there was nothing Sherlock could do about that. Yet. He'd have to think of something. In the meantime, he needed to set things right with Molly. He'd been an idiot thinking he could work with the young pathologist while he was attracted to her. Even more so because he'd just assumed she'd always be there, waiting for him to make up his mind. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.

"Alright, I'll help you." John said with a sharp nod after a few minutes. "Just one question, though."

"Just one?" Sherlock sighed tiredly, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on the armrests. "Go on then."

"When did it start?"

Right. Of course. He'd want to know that. Sherlock stretched out his legs in front of him and retreated into his Mind Palace. He'd stored the memory long ago, but it was still there. He retrieved it now and placed it front and center.

* * *

"How fresh?" He asked, zipping open the body bag and looking over the corpse.

She was nervous, looking at him with a mix of expectation and dread. It was both endearing and annoying, especially when he was hell-bent on ignoring her advances and focusing on his work.

"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." She was babbling. Sherlock narrowed his eyes on her, taking in the details and making deductions. She would ask him out today. Coffee, most likely.

"Fine." He straightened, a grin spreading across his face. "We'll start with the riding crop."

Sherlock pulled it out and set it down on the table while he shrugged out of his coat. Her eyes widened when she saw the crop in his hand and for a second Sherlock paused, considering the new development. Was that surprise on her face, or something else? What was that  _look_?

"Perhaps you should wait in the observation room while I work." Sherlock suggested, throwing his coat on a chair just behind him but keeping his eyes fixed on her. She jumped, her eyes immediately darting to his face before she nodded and scurried out of the room. Not just surprise then. Interesting.

The fact that he didn't date was by choice, he reminded himself as he removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. He was a brain. His body mere transport, and food just necessary fuel. Although he could acknowledge that there were  _some_  benefits to emotional entanglements, they'd never outweighed the importance of remaining alone in terms of his work.

Molly was different, and not for the conventional reasons.

She was pretty, of course, but not the prettiest woman he'd ever encountered, though he didn't put much stock into the appeal of physical female qualities. She was also clever and competent, even more so than her colleagues here at St. Bart's.

It wasn't just that, though, was it? There was also the fact that she was as passionate about her job as he was about his, and that was certainly saying something. The choice in career was also a surprise, and one that had furnished them with interesting conversation when they'd been forced to work late into the night. Or rather, he would work late into the night and ask her to stay, which she always did.

No, Molly wasn't just different. She was interesting.

"Molly Hooper." He muttered, lifting up the riding crop, ready to begin his work. "What do I make of you?"

He got to work. Hitting the corpse repeatedly until he was sure he'd done as much as he could to gather the necessary data. He was aware that she was watching him, but he refrained from looking over his shoulder merely to satisfy his curiosity. Because he  _was_  curious. Would she be looking at him with the same look he'd seen when he'd taken out the riding crop? Had it changed?

He stopped hitting the corpse and stepped away, taking a deep breath.

"So, bad day, was it?" He'd seen her come in but he ignored her, trying to focus on anything other than the newly minted enigma standing in front of him. Setting the riding crop down, he pulled out his notebook and started making notes.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." It came out in one breath and sharper than he'd intended, but he was having a hard time focusing on the case at hand.

It was the look. He couldn't get it out of his head.

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished—"

Sherlock looked up at her, annoyed that she was being so persistent when he was trying so hard to push her towards the back of his mind. He narrowed his eyes at her. Was she really—

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." He kept his eyes trained on her, taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that he was making her uncomfortable. Good. If he had to suffer at the mere sight of her then she could join him.

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." She smiled at him. No, not just that. She was  _flirting_  with him, wasn't she? He wasn't surprised. Her admiration had been patent from the outset, but she'd never pursued him before. Until now. Was that because of the riding crop or something else? He'd have to look into it.

No!

No. He didn't have to look into it at all. In fact, he'd stay as far away from looking into it as possible. He broke himself out of his thoughts and resumed taking notes.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He asked, feigning indifference.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." He snapped his notebook shut and looked at her. Really looked at her. Why  _her_? Why  _now_? What was  _wrong_ with him? He needed to get out before he did something really idiotic.

Like saying 'yes' to her offer.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

* * *

"So why didn't you just get on with it then?" John asked with a shrug. It sounded simple enough while he was telling the story, but it had been monumental back then.

"I told you. Girlfriends are not really my area." Sherlock replied with a frown.

"Yeah, but you fancied her." John countered, shifting in his chair and smiling him. He was still amused that Sherlock was capable of liking someone that way, especially when that someone was Molly Hooper. "And anyone with eyes could see that she fancied you too. She was smitten."

"Still is." Sherlock bit back. "But back then my mind was set. I was sure it would pass. She was an anomaly, that was all."

"Something changed, though, right?" John prodded, leaning forward in his chair.

"You're enjoying this far too much." Sherlock replied, narrowing his eyes at him before continuing with his story. "Yes, something changed. It was 'The Woman'."

"Irene Adler?" John's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and Sherlock smirked, happy to have caught him off guard.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, searching his Mind Palace once again until he found the next memory.

* * *

It was raining in Karachi.

Sherlock stared out the window; glad he didn't have to venture out into the streets for the time being. The Woman was still asleep in the bed just behind him, but Sherlock hadn't bothered with sleep at all. He needed to go back. Tomorrow at the latest.

Most men in his position would jump at the chance to spend a few nights with the infamous Irene Adler, stuck in a tiny room with nothing else to do.

Not him.

He frowned, turning to study her sleeping form, curled up beneath the covers.

It was odd.

Irene was an appealing woman. A challenge. A conquest, even. She'd been a puzzle from the beginning and it had been a thrill to work her out. He had taken her apart, laid bare all her inner workings and then put her back together.

It had been exhilarating, but temporary. Once he'd figured her out, solved the mystery as he was prone to do, there was nothing left. She was all artifice and calculation. Her methods were unorthodox, but obvious. Her beauty superficial; more a pretty shell than substantial armor. It was all calculated. Predictable.  _Boring_.

And yet here he was.

He'd gone beyond the normal call of duty to save her, but he hadn't been able to let her go, and he knew exactly why.

With all her fathomless allure, Irene Adler had failed to take him in. He'd lost his interest in her almost the exact minute he'd typed in the password to her mobile phone. In that sense, she'd been a sort of catalyst to a sudden realization.

There would be no one else for him.

There  _could_   _be_  no one else for him.

Of course, Irene Adler would always be 'The Woman' to him. The woman who'd thrilled him. The woman who'd challenged him. The woman who'd loved him, and puzzled him for a brief flashing moment, bright and quick to burn.

Sherlock sighed, the noise making her stir in her sleep. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't wake up.

With all the things she would always be to him, she would never be what he now realized he really wanted. What he really  _needed_.

No, what he needed was not brief, but permanent. It didn't burn, but smolder. It was constant, and deep, and rare.

Not just a woman. An anomaly.

And God help him, she had a name.

* * *

"Molly Hooper." John paused, and Sherlock could tell he was processing the new information. He hadn't told anyone about Irene being alive, not even John, though now it hardly seemed to matter. "Irene Adler made you realize that you wanted to be with Molly."

"As usual, John, you're oversimplifying something that is exceedingly nuanced and complex." Sherlock retorted, pulling on his shirt cuffs.

"You're full of it and you know it." John shook his head and pointed a finger at him. "You thought that if Irene Adler couldn't take your mind off Molly, then probably no one ever could. You realized you wanted Molly, and you still do."

Sherlock sighed, turning his head to look at his 'clue wall'. He needed to get back to work soon, but he needed to be sorted first. Concentration was hard to come by while he was so scattered.

"It's complex," Sherlock insisted, "because I don't break my own rules. I've told you before, sentiment is human error. It's a flaw, a mistake, and one I would never allow myself to make." He paused. "Willingly, that is."

John just stared him down and Sherlock continued, trying to get his point across. "If I were ever to break my own rule, Irene Adler would've been the logical choice."

"But you didn't want her." John concluded, and Sherlock nodded slowly.

"No." Sherlock said quietly. "Not her."

* * *

_**One Month Later** _

Molly snapped off her latex gloves and threw them into the rubbish bin with a huff. She was done for the day, having worked non-stop for the remainder of her shift in order to keep her mind occupied with anything other than the events of that morning.

He'd said it was for a case, and more than likely it really was, but it was dangerous and reckless. Molly couldn't condone it, and both John and Mycroft seemed to agree.

Turning off the lights in the lab, Molly made her way back into her office to gather her things. She could stay, maybe transcribe her notes until she was seeing double and was ready for bed, but she wouldn't. She needed to be angry with him right now, and this might just do the trick.

Molly was sliding her arms into her coat when she heard the text alert, and she pulled it out immediately, glancing at the screen.

_**Coffee?** _

_**SH** _

"Ha!" Molly scoffed, putting her mobile back into her coat pocket and swinging her bag onto her shoulder. Maybe three slaps hadn't been enough. Next time she'd slip in a fourth for good measure.

_**Answer your texts. I know you're reading them.** _

_**SH** _

Molly glared at the screen and typed in a reply.

_I'm busy._

_M_

_**You just finished your shift and you're heading home. You're not busy.** _

_**SH** _

_Maybe I have a date._

_M_

_**You don't.** _

_**SH** _

"Now how could you possibly know that?" Molly muttered, shoving open her office door and colliding into the man himself. She yelped. "Sorry!"

"Molly." He spoke her name and Molly immediately righted herself, taking a step back.

"Yes?" She put her phone away and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

"We need to talk." He replied seriously, a hint of something in his voice, but Molly couldn't quite decipher what it was.

"I'm awfully tired, Sherlock." Molly sighed, feeling the fight go out of her. She really felt exhausted, and she realized that the anger she'd experienced that morning had probably been the only thing fueling her throughout the day. "Can it wait?"

"I'm afraid not." Sherlock replied, looking around him once before turning her around and pushing her back into her office. He closed the door behind him.

"Alright." Molly set her bag down and crossed her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"

"Why did you break it off with Tom?" Sherlock's eyes bored into hers and Molly was momentarily stunned into silence. Of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, this certainly wasn't one of them.

"Why do think it was me that broke it off with him?" She asked after a long pause. Sherlock set his mouth into a grim line and gave her a look.

"Honestly, Molly." He replied. "I'd think you'd know me better than that by now."

"Then why do you care?" Molly changed her question and frowned.

Sherlock didn't say anything, just stared at her, searching her face. He had to know the reason already. Sherlock was Sherlock. He noticed everything.

"Do you just want me to say it out loud?" She was starting to get angry again. He had a girlfriend now too, didn't he? He'd mentioned as much before when she'd come to visit him while he was working. She'd been nice, though not as impressed with the dead bodies as one might've hoped.

"You're thinking about Janine." Sherlock took a step towards her, and Molly retreated in equal measure. He narrowed his eyes, darting them over her face before they widened. "Oh! Is this jealousy? I assure you, there is nothing to worry about."

"She's your girlfriend." Molly countered; unnerved by the way he was looking at her. What was the matter with him?

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Soon to be fiancé, if all goes as planned."

Molly felt those words like a slap in the face. She clenched her jaw and looked away. "I need to go."

She shoved past him, silently praying that she could make it outside and out of his range before she started crying. This was beyond cruel, even for him.

Sherlock was quicker than her, though, and he moved to block the door from her before she had a chance to even place her hand on the doorknob. She really was going to cry and he was going to see her. It was humiliating.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said quietly. "I said it was nothing to worry about. Why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" Molly snapped, wiping a rogue tear from her cheek. "Can't you just leave me alone this once?"

"No!" Sherlock snapped at her. His eyes flashed and he closed them, taking a deep breath before continuing. "No, but I would if I could."

"What are you saying?" Molly replied doubtfully. She couldn't piece together what he wanted. He wanted to know why she'd broken off her engagement. It was because of him, obviously, but why did it matter? He was about to be engaged himself.

"Tell me." His voice was low, with an edge of threat to it; though what he was threatening Molly couldn't be sure.

"T-tell you what?" Molly asked, too nervous to recall what the question was now. Sherlock walked up to her, but this time Molly didn't move. He stared down at her, his face completely open now, like he  _wanted_ her to see straight through him. Oh. Now she remembered. "It was you. It's always been you."

Molly waited a beat, and Sherlock smiled, leaning down to gently press his lips to hers. Her reaction was instantaneous and passionate. Molly took hold of Sherlock's coat collar and pulled herself up, deepening the kiss as he slipped his arms around her waist and held her to him.

He took his time, working one hand into her hair while bringing her closer with the other. He was relentless, and it was only when Molly thought she'd pass out from the intensity that he pulled away to catch his breath.

"I have to go." He voice was husky and his breathing ragged, but he didn't let her go. "The engagement. John's waiting."

"Hm?" Molly opened her eyes, feeling dazed and too hot under the collar until she realized what he was saying. "Wait, what? No!"

She squirmed and he let her go. "Oh my God! I can't believe I just kissed you! You have a girlfriend!" She widened her eyes. "You're getting engaged!"

"It's for a case." Sherlock replied, reaching forward and cupping her face in his hands. "Do calm down, Molly. Hysterics don't do you any favors."

"You're an ass." Molly narrowed her eyes at him, but forced herself to calm down. "It's just for a case?"

"Yes." Sherlock smirked. He gave her a lingering kiss on the lips before pulling away. "And I have to go."

"We're not done here." She said sullenly, picking up her bag and following him out.

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob while he waited for her to gather her things and look at him.

"Oh, I should hope not." He smiled, trouble spelled out across his features. "We're just getting started."

He winked at her once before opening the door and disappearing from her office, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hall.


End file.
